Intro (Talkbox, heavy bass, sirens fading) Yeah… Westside… Ain’t no shortcuts. Ain’t no free rides. Hook I don’t give a fuck what they heard ‘bout me, Still ten toes where the palm trees be. Chrome stay clean, but the soul stay grim, If you ain’t built like us, don’t pretend you him. Whole block loud when the bassline drop, West still run it, and the West won’t stop. Middle fingers high, let ’em hate all day, Real ones know how the West Coast play. Verse 1 Fresh white tee, Chucks scraping the pavement, Built my name, never begged for placement. Everybody tough till the pressure hit, Now they folding up quick on some coward shit. Money got longer, circle got smaller, Never sold my name for a fake-ass dollar. You can keep the likes, keep the internet fame, I’d rather have respect when they mention my name. Windows down, let the speakers distort, Every beat hit hard like a damn assault. Still got scars, still got pride, California stamped till the day I die. Hook I don’t give a fuck what they heard ‘bout me, Still ten toes where the palm trees be. Chrome stay clean, but the soul stay grim, If you ain’t built like us, don’t pretend you him. Verse 2 Ain’t nobody handed me shit but doubt, Now they all wanna know what the hype about. Late nights, long roads, pressure don’t quit, But diamonds get made when the world gets thick. Whole city know when the bass start knocking, Every rearview mirror in the lane start rocking. Westside Gripp, yeah the name stay solid, Built from the ground, ain’t nobody bought it. Outro California… Still breathing. Still standing. Still rolling.
